Different
by Terelex
Summary: Leonille is a sheltered nobleman's daughter with a thirst to prove herself. Talin is a prince whose throne has been stolen from him. At a glance, they seem like very different people, but their coming together will forever shape the world around them.
1. Leonille

**Not sure if this is going to be any good, but we were learning about the Civil War and how hundreds of women disguised themselves as men to fight in it, and, well, I'm in a LOTR nerd mood right now… ;_;**

**Btw, for A Ring of Wings readers, the sequel is **_**almost **_**ready to be published :)**

**OH AND ONE MORE THING. If any of these characters are Mary-Sues/Gary Stus PLEASE TELL ME WHY so I can fix them. Mary Sues scare me. I don't want to write them.**

**Actually, another one more thing. All I know about LOTR comes mostly from watching the movies (I read the books in, like, fifth grade…) and reading other fanfics. So if there's something totally wrong, well, just go with the flow. I mean, I'm making up a lot of this stuff, so it's practically AU…**

_The family is as follows: a mother, a father, three sons, and two daughters. They are each perched on their own horse (save Deod, who rides along with Leogas), returning from a hunting trip. While the rest of the family talks and laughs, the mother and the youngest daughter, Leonith, hang back, sniffing in disapproval every once in a while._

_ The moment is bittersweet. This will probably have been the last trip the entire family could take together. It was only by stroke of luck that Deon could get out of his squire duties at the same time Leogas could get out of his page ones, but it is too much to ask that Deod would be freed the same time as his brothers once he starts his knight training the following week._

_ "Oh, come, Mum," Leonille, the oldest daughter, bats her eyelashes at her sour mother. "Don't be a stick in the mud."_

_ "Yes, Mum!" Deon, the oldest son, grins. "Are you not happy?"_

_ "No," says the mother. She disapproves of her daughter Leonille acting so vulgar: dressed in her twin brother Leogas' hunting clothes, steering her own horse without the assistance of a servant, with wild hair and an unchecked mouth. In short, she feels her daughter is not nearly ladylike enough. She doesn't voice this, though. She knows it's already a well-known opinion._

_ Leogas pats his horse on the neck sharply and steers it up towards Leonille._

_ "You anger mother," he prods. Leonille rolls her eyes._

_ "Mother is foolish and old fashioned."_

_ "Maybe so," Leogas shrugs. Their father trots up on Leonille's other side._

_ "Leonille, Leonille," he tsks. "What am I going to do with you?"_

_ "Oh, shut it, Da," Leonille sticks out her tongue. "It's your fault I'm like this, after all."_

_ "Perhaps," says their father. "In fact, I'm surprised your mother hasn't banished me from the household yet."_

_ Deod looks horrified and he squeezes Leogas' ribcage. "She can do that?"_

_ "Of course not, son, I am only joking."_

_ "Oh."_

_ The peaceful family time is interrupted by a harsh call from the woods. Orcs spring out from the trees, waving swords and grinning menacingly. They kill all the servants and the guards easily._

_ "Deon!" yells father. "Take your siblings and run!"_

_ "What about you?" Leogas cries._

_ "GO!"_

_ Deon doesn't object. He is a good son, a good soldier, and he obeys his father's orders without question. He darts forward on his horse and grabs the reigns of Leonith and Leonille's horses, yanking them forward into the river._

_ "Go!" he orders, and then turns back to fetch Leogas and Deod. Leonille looks over his shoulder and nearly falls of her horse. Her mother is on the ground, limbs arrayed in odd angles, blank eyes staring. Leogas has his face buried in his horse's mane. Blood leaks from a wound on his back and he is unmoving. Deod is screaming and sobbing, shaking his brother. Her father canters around Deod, brandishing his sword, but an orc tackles him off his horse - Leonille grabs Leonith and twists her head the opposite direction. Her sister is already in hysterics - she doesn't need to see her father having his neck snapped by _them_._

_ "DEOD!" Leonille screams, and she practically stabs her horse with the heel of her boot. She unsheathes Deon's sword from his belt in passing: he's frozen, tears leaking from his eyes that are usually made out of stone. She hefts the sword high above her head. "LET DEOD GO!"_

_ The orcs merely laugh._

_ "Foolish girl! She takes on an entire squadron of orcs for her bumbling little brother!" one rasps. Leonille feels the adrenaline shooting through her veins. She doesn't feel sadness, only anger. Deod is trembling, his cheeks streaked with tears. He looks at his big sister hopelessly and whispers: "Leonille."_

Leonille touched her face. It was dry, for a change. Usually when she dreamed about that day she woke up sobbing. Still, she executed her standard routine for waking up from that nightmare. She slipped out of bed, ignoring her slippers, and spirited into her younger sister's room. Leonith was sleeping soundly, a rising and falling mound under her blankets. Deon was off on some mission and not in the house, so she needn't worry about him. Ever since that day Deon had trained harder and harder, resolving never to freeze up like that in panic, resolving never to let anyone die, resolving never to abandon anyone like that ever again. Leonille had faith in her brother.

She stuck her head out the window. The sun hadn't quite peeked out over the horizon yet, but with the moon already gone it wouldn't be long. She pursed her lips and opened her wardrobe. A little blind groping and she found the handle. She pulled it and another door swung open. Inside it were peasant clothes belonging to a male and her sword. She changed quickly and then slipped out of the house off the balcony in her room.

The clothes she'd bought from a vendor 'for her little sister to cut up and sew into a dress for her doll'. The sword was her own. It wasn't a great one: in fact, it could barely be considered a real sword, just a smidge above a practice foil. Ever since she could lift it, she held it in front of her for her brothers to hit. "It's one thing to swing at a dummy, but the feeling of striking the sword that an actual being holds is much, much different," her father used to say. So she played as the actual being. By the time she was thirteen, her brothers could attack her from any angle and she could defend herself with ease. Her father used to tell her that she was the best at blocking sword slices in the entire land of Gondor.

That wasn't good enough. She didn't want to only hold off hostiles, she wanted to be able to hack them to wee bits.

That's why she'd begun going to training. With war looming over their heads, the Steward had set up training for peasants who wished to attend. A draft would come soon, and if one had time they could attend training so that when they were forced to join the army they wouldn't be cut down immediately.

She'd gone to the training every single day since it had begun, without fail. She rose at the crack of dawn and trained with the knights who were in charge of the district she'd begun claiming to be her home. Her hair was hidden under a helmet and her slim, female body was shapeless under the bulky armor that was provided. Luckily, she was tall enough to pass as a man and relatively flat.

"Greetings, Leo," said Jenalir. He was the knight who generally was in charge of training her. Leo was the name she'd taken up, since Leonille was obviously too feminine. "How are you on this fine morning?"

"Fantastic, sir. How about you?"

"Just dandy, kid. You wanna know something? I have a question," said Jenalir.

"Shoot," Leonille said.

"How in gods do you manage to get down here every single day?"

"I'm very motivated, sir."

"Yes, but you don't _need _to be here," Jenalir said, drawing his sword and testing it in his hands. "Back when I was a Paige, I skipped training all the time, and I didn't have all your peasant duties. You are here every day, rain or shine, even on holidays like today when most of the others are home with their families."

"I need to survive this war, sir."

"Yes, I realize that, but why?" Jenalir ran his finger along the blade. "Well, that's a silly question. _Everyone _wants to survive. But why you, why so much?"

Leonille hesitated. _Because I want to avenge the deaths of 4/7 of my family and prove that just because I'm a woman doesn't mean I'm useless. _She couldn't say that, of course.

"I have a younger sister. She's only twelve, and very dependent on me. If I die, she will most certainly not make it in the world," it wasn't exactly a complete lie. Leonith was terribly dependent on Leonille and Deon, but she wouldn't _die _if she was the only one left. Their father had been a very powerful man, the Steward's closest friend and most intelligent advisor. There was plenty of money left over, and the Steward (or more Faramir) wouldn't just let her rot.

"Ah, so that's how it is," Jenalir shrugged. "I got me a child sister as well, although she's stubborn as a mule and has my mother to take care of her. Anyways, let's get to the training, shall we?"

Normally there were at least twenty men in the small square roped off for training purposes and one had to spar with other trainees, but as Jenalir had said, it was a holiday and Leonille was among only three men who were crazy enough to show up. Three men, three instructors. It was a private lesson.

Jenalir and Leonille began to spar. Her father's training had served her well, and she rarely had a single opening in her defense. Unfortunately, Jenalir was better, and much better at landing attacks than her.

"Place more weight on your back leg. That way you can lunge more easily."

"Attacking from above leaves your entire body free to be attacked, but if you get the opportunity, do it. They are often the most powerful of strikes."

"Don't look just at my eyes. You have a firm enough understanding of defense to be able to read the rest of my body without risk of having your limbs chopped off."

Two hours later, Leonille was sweating and exhausted.

"I must leave," she said. "Thank you, Jenalir!"

"Alright, Leo," Jenalir nodded. She gathered up her things and started to leave. "Oh, and Leo?" Leonille turned around, scowling. She'd been about to take her helmet off. It was hot and uncomfortable, but she couldn't if she was going to keep on talking to him. "I think you'll survive."

"I think you will, too, sir," Leonille bowed and Jenalir laughed.

"I hope so," he smiled, wiping sweat from his brow.

She dashed back to her home. It was the eighth hour and Leonith was up and about, making breakfast. Leonille snuck in through the window and drew a bath. She was expected in court.

Changing back into her night dress, she stumbled into the dining room as if she'd just woken up and helped Leonith with breakfast – not that Leonith needed any help. The girl spent half of her time obsessively working on her culinary skills. She claimed she would need them once she married. Leonille was content with the ability to properly bake a loaf of bread. Normally the servants would make breakfast, but due to the fact it was a holiday they had a day off.

They ate breakfast quickly and then Leonille took her bath and changed into a dress. They walked up to the Steward's hall, uncomfortable in their long dresses and high heeled shoes, and waited outside the door in the warm sun. Finally, a servant (the Steward's servants didn't get the day off) came to fetch them.

In the Steward's presence, Leonille and Leonith curtseyed deeply.

"How may we be of service, your Highness?" Leonille said, making sure not to look him in the eyes, as was polite.

"Where is your brother? It is he who I wish to speak to!" the Steward hissed. Leonith flinched. He scared her, and Leonille couldn't blame her.

"Deon is not present at the moment, your Highness. He is currently stationed in the southernmost part of the kingdom, if you would like to reach him there," Leonille said. She made her voice sound calm, but slightly intimidated. That was how one was supposed to address the Steward.

"No, no. I sought his counsel, but if he is not here, it is useless," the Steward gave Leonille a look that could curdle milk.

"You sought his counsel because of my father, am I right, my liege?" she guessed. "If that is the case, perhaps I may be of assistance."

"What? Oh, no, no, leave, girl," the Steward said. Leonille was slightly disappointed. Was her brother so much more intelligent than her that the Steward wouldn't even _try _to see if some of her Da's wisdom had rubbed off on her? "Genthin, are you quite finished with your report?"

_Genthin. _"Yes, my Lord." She hadn't noticed him standing in the shadows there.

"Then leave me. All of you! I wish to be alone."

Leonille, Leonith, Genthin, and all the other visitors scurried away.

"Go on ahead," Leonille told Leonith. "I need to speak with Genthin."

Leonith nodded, but shot her a curious look before hobbling back down to the house. Leonille stepped across the cobbled streets towards the ranger.

"Genthin!" she cried. He turned to look at her and grinned broadly. Genthin was not a person Leonille usually wanted to be around, because he was madly in love with her and they were to be married. She didn't find many glaring flaws in his character, but she also didn't like the idea of spending the rest of her life with someone she would hardly ever speak to if she had the choice. It bothered her how arrogant and flamboyant he was. This was one of the reasons Leonille disliked the Steward. The only time he ever fulfilled his duty and looked after her, it was to declare that she _would _marry Genthin _no matter what._

"Leonille! How do you fare?"

"Well," she said. "I have a message for Lord Faramir. Could you bring it to him for me?"

"Of course," he looked slightly bitter. "Seeing as I am mostly restricted to being a messenger of late."

Leonille's eyebrows shot up. "What did you do?"

"I? Nothing! I am perfect! Why must you always assume the worst of me?" Genthin boasted. "But enough of that. What is your message?"

"Tell him..." she hesitated. "Tell him that I'm sorry."

"Well," Genthin looked startled. "What did _you _do?"

Leonille scowled. "Oh, he'll know soon enough."

"You mean to say you're apologizing for something he doesn't know you've done? That doesn't seem wise," Genthin scratched his head.

"It's a surprise that will be waiting for him when he comes home," Leonille explained. It hurt to think of what that surprise would be. Would Faramir even care? A silly question, she knew. Faramir was practically her godfather with the horrible job the Steward was doing and she'd known him her entire life.

"I can't wait," Genthin smirked. That made it worse even though she knew it wasn't fair because Genthin had _no idea _what the surprise was.

"Yes," Leonille smiled weakly. "Well, I must leave. Leonith will be worried."

"Of course," Genthin stepped forward and drew her into an embrace. Leonille frowned and carefully ducked out of it.

"Good bye, Genthin," said Leonille, walking away. "Remember. I'm sorry."

"I'll remember!" he called to her receding back. As she walked away, she heard him punch himself in the leg and hiss, "ugh! _Stupid!_" and she felt bad for rejecting him like that.


	2. Talin

**Chapter two :)**

**This is Talin. He is hopefully not obnoxious.**

Talin leaned against the banister and looked down at the city. Minis Tirith was beautiful, without a doubt. It appeared to be made solely out of crystal or marble with the white material. The sun glistened off the rock and dazzled the eyes of observers. The city was made up of multiple levels. At the top was the Steward's hall, and the level below it was for the wealthy. Below that was slightly less wealthy, and so on and so forth.

But Talin still didn't feel comfortable there. Everything seemed to clean, too tamed and sterile. Beyond the city lay a flat plain made up of only grass. This was unlike his homeland, which was made up of either thick jungle or barren desert and the landscape was full of hills. It made him nervous, how one could see everything in all directions, and yet it still managed to be cold.

And then there was the poverty. Minis Tirith wasn't exactly a poor city, and Gondor was quite well off considering. It was him, specifically, who was fairly poor. No, that's not quite true. He earned more money honestly than many, but he still inhabited the lowest level of the city. He didn't _have _to, of course, but it was all part of his cover. What Harad would have enough money to live the high life? Even though his story was that he was the second generation of his family to be born in Gondor, it was difficult to get a decent job. That was logical, of course. What employer would want to hire the grandchild of the enemy?

Little did they know, he was not only the grandchild of the enemy, but the enemy himself. Or was he? He often went over this in his head. The details of that night, all his thoughts, his emotions. Talin shut his eyes and envisioned it again.

_The fifteen year old Talin curled up on top of his blankets, playing with the little tin soldiers his grandfather had gotten him. The room was dark, but his eyes had gotten used to it, and he could see very clearly. He moved the forces of Mordor forward. They attacked the city of Gondor, constructed by an ink pot and a rolled up bit of parchment, but they were greatly outnumbered. They were going to be defeated. Talin uttered a soft battle cry and dropped a few more tin soldiers in, as well: the Haradrim. The great army of the south immediately beat down the forces of the north._

_ There were footsteps outside of his room and Talin swept his games off the bed, leaping under the covers. The door opened, but no light filtered into the prince's quarters. He found this odd – why weren't the torches in the hall lit? Someone walked up to his dresser and began rummaging through his clothes. _Robbers, _thought Talin. He slipped his hand underneath his pillow and curled his fingers around the hilt of his knife._

_ The person stepped lightly towards his bed, stuffing things in a rucksack. Once they were close enough, Talin's knife flashed through the air. But he was caught off guard when a hand grasped his wrist and slammed it back onto his bed._

_ "Shh, quiet, young master," Talin recognized that voice. It belonged to one of his tutors, Master Gehin. Gehin was his fencing teacher._

_ "Gehin?" he whispered. Gehin nodded._

_ "We must leave quickly, master Talin. It is of the utmost importance," he said. Talin slid out of bed._

_ "Leave? Why?" he asked._

_ "Perhaps it would be best if we kept that for later," said Gehin. Talin shot him a curious look._

_ "Gehin," he said. "Where is Jasi? Why isn't she coming along as well?"_

_ "Your sister is being taken care of by another," said Gehin. Something in that statement struck Talin as odd._

_ "Where are we going, Gehin?" he gripped the man's arm and glared straight into his eyes. "Or are you a traitor? Is this some mad scheme to kidnap me and then request a ransom?"_

_ "No, young master, of course not," said Gehin sourly._

_ "Then tell me where we are going, man, or I shall have my parents fire you."_

"_I'm afraid that's not possible, young sir. Your parents are dead."_

_Talin stared at him. "What madness is this?"_

"_None. You know where your parents had gone, don't you?"_

"_To Rohan, to talk with the king there. To negotiate for peace," Talin said. "They were attempting to pull Harad out of this war. Break off from Mordor."_

"_It seems that Mordor didn't want to be broken off from," Gehin handed Talin his rucksack. He made no attempt to sugar-coat his next words. They were blunt and brutal, as could be expected from Gehin. "Word has just come. The forces of Sauron killed the entire company before they even got through Gondor."_

"_You're lying," Talin's voice broke and he took a step back. "You're lying."_

"_Young master. Your uncle has surely heard by now. He will not hesitate to seize power in this moment of weakness. You must leave."_

"_No!" Talin whimpered softly and fell to the floor._

"_Young master, Jasi will be waiting with Erha. We must go," said Gehin. Sounding annoyed, he coaxed the prince – king? – to his feet and together they stole out into the night._

The two had never found Jasi. She and Erha had been caught before they'd even escaped the palace. Talin had made it to the boarder, but Gehin had been captured by Talin's uncle's men before then. Talin had then found his way to Minas Tirith, come up with a decent and believable cover story, and settled down for life as a poor Gondorian.

Inside his home was the clothing he'd worn back in Harad. It looked almost exotic to him now that he was so used to the bland greys and browns that the natives here wore. Underneath his bed were two gold bars, the only thing that remained of his fortune. Using them would arouse suspicion, so he merely chipped bits off now and then when times got hard.

"Harad!" barked a voice. Talin sighed and turned around slowly. His dark eyes met those of Dagarin, his tormenter and neighbor for the past four years. "What are you doing, slacking off work?"

"Oh, most definitely," said Talin. "But that leaves the question, what are _you _doing?"

"Getting ready to beat some Harad trash to the ground, like he deserves," Dagarin's gang snickered and smirked around him, cracking their knuckles and generally looking threatening. At first, this sight had caused Talin to turn white and start to sweat fearfully, but after so many years it was old news. They would punch and kick him until they were satisfied, then leave him in a mud puddle somewhere, laughing.

Well, Talin wasn't quite in the mood today.

He swung his legs over the balcony and dropped off it, ignoring the protesting cries. He landed on the roof of a home and slid down the shingles. Once he reached the edge, he twisted and grabbed the end as he fell. It jarred his shoulders, but the fall from there was only around two feet. He landed deftly and disappeared into a convenient alley.

"Are you alright, Talin?" wondered Bennett, Talin's employer, once he returned to work. He helped the old man run his produce business by cleaning up the shop and acting as a cashier.

"I'm fine," Talin said stiffly, though to be quite honest he was fed up with Dagarin and was wishing he still had some of his royal influence so he could have them drawn and quartered.

"I have some advice for you, Talin," said Bennett firmly. Talin glanced at him curiously. "You're fired."

…what?

"…what?" said Tarin.

"You're not happy here, that much is clear," said Bennett. "You don't like it much, and most people don't like _you _much. You're too different for their narrow minds. Do you know of my son?"

Talin nodded wordlessly, still staring in disbelief.

"He's not quite as different as you, but his eye color is strange for our land."

"Brown eyes," Talin nodded. He'd never met a single person in the city with anything other than blue eyes, other than himself and Bennett's son.

"People thought he was unnatural, that he didn't belong. They decided he didn't fit in. But he was determined. Do you know what he did?"

"No."

"He joined the army," said Bennett. "He proved everyone wrong. He fit in like a puzzle piece among all those men. He proved his worth."

…and then he died. "I'm sorry, but are you telling me to - "

"Join the army."

"Ah."

Talin didn't much like the idea. He was a _prince._ He wasn't a common soldier.

_No, you are no longer any prince, _he told himself. _And a soldier is less common than a civilian._

Every molecule in his body told him that the idea was foolish, but he would be drafted in soon enough anyways. And besides, he trusted Bennett's good judgment.

And so Talin, heir to the throne of Harad, prince without a throne, outcast from his own country, joined the army that his uncle the King sought to destroy.


	3. Water

Leonille held the silver dagger in her hand. Leonith was asleep safely, and Leonille was all packed and dressed. This was all that remained. Leonille was horrified at herself for abhorring this so much. Just one little cut and it would be all over. It wouldn't even _hurt_, for god's sake. _Don't be so vain_, she told herself, and slashed

Her hair floated out of the window like a brown mist. She shook her head an examined herself in the mirror. With her new haircut, men's clothing, and lack of makeup, she could pass as a boy. If she smudged a little dirt around her face she could pass as someone well-shaven. Still, she was too easily recognizable as herself. She had many friends and relatives in that army and she didn't doubt that she'd run into them at one point or another. And besides, her father had been quite famous in life, and his children weren't exactly unknown.

She un-stoppered the small bottle and walked into the bathroom. It was a strange concoction that the man at the store had called bleach. He'd told her that it could change one's hair color. She wasn't exactly sure how or to what color, but with a different tint of hair she wouldn't be recognized at all.

Leonille wet her hair and then poured the bleach in it. She massaged it around so it covered every single strand and waited a few minutes. Then she washed it out again thoroughly, like the man had told her, and dried it. When she looked in the mirror, she nearly gaped. Her hair was several shades lighter than it had been: an odd pale dirty blonde. It hung a little above her shoulders, jagged and layered. It didn't look particularly good, but Leonille didn't really care. She could have fooled her_self _into thinking she was a man.

Only one more thing remained. She picked up a piece of paper and wrote two words on it: _the sea. _Then, as an afterthought, _I'm sorry_. She didn't want to torment anyone further, but that added the element of foreshadowing and would make it more likely that they'd be fooled.She impaled the slip on the knife and stabbed it into her pillow. There, that gave it a nice and desperate look.

But would it fool anyone? They would never find her body, they would never have any proof. Just a note in her handwriting, a violent looking knife, and no sign of a struggle. Yes, it would work. She'd been sure to drop hints of her own weakness, of how she wasn't sure she could handle the responsibility of raising her little sister, of how she couldn't get of the deaths of her parents and two brothers.

As she slipped out of the house and towards the bottom level of Minas Tirith, she grimaced. What of Leonith and Deon? They would certainly blame themselves, Deon especially. He would tear himself apart, spouting nonsense about how he'd abandoned her, allowed her fall to madness alone. She was struck with how terribly selfish what she was doing was. Why couldn't she just tell Deon - Deon _at least _- of her plan? With everything he blamed himself for he could end up committing suicide himself.

Leonille pushed the thought away. Deon was much to level headed for that. He would see the logic that she didn't and stay on to care for Leonith.

Before entering the enlistment office, Leonille made sure to smudge dirt all over her face and other exposed skin. This would hopefully make her look both poorer and more manly, along with ensure that no one recognized her. Then she pushed open the door. At such a late hour, there was only the enlistment officer dozing at his desk, but Leonille had planned for that. She didn't want to be stuck in a crowd of people, have someone bump into her wrong - and have her secret exposed.

"Sir?" she ventured, stepping up to the desk. A single candle was burning down to a stub. "Sir?"

He stirred a little with a grunt and she prodded him with a gloved hand. At her touch he started to consciousness.

"Umphwhat?" the man grumbled.

"I'd like to enlist," Leonille said, ensuring to use her low, boy's voice. The man brushed away a lock of long grey hair and squinted up at her.

"At this hour?"

"This is the only free time I've got," she explained. The officer didn't look happy, but he nodded gruffly and picked up his quill.

"Name," he read.

"Leo," said Leonille. He wrote it down.

"_Last _name, if you please," he said.

"Don't have one. Parents died when I was a wee thing."

"Alright, then. Age."

"Eighteen," although she was only making herself a year older, she hoped it would help erase any suspicion. He asked her a few more questions, answers to which she mostly made up on the spot.

"Come back tomorrow at the tenth hour," he said once he'd finished. "We'll have an assignment for you. Oh, and one last thing. Are you trained?"

"Yes, I am," Leonille nodded.

"Where did you train?"

"Jenalir trained me, the third level."

"Oh!" he blinked. "You're _that _Leo?"

"You've heard of me?" Leonille was confused. She was still a trainee, how had someone heard of her? What if it caused her to blow her cover?

"Jenalir is my step brother," the man said. "When we met, once, he complained for nearly an hour about how early and often you come to the training grounds. Said he wanted to get some sleep."

"Oh," She frowned. "Tell him I'm sorry, will you?"

"I shall," he nodded. "Now move along, boy. I'd like to get some sleep, if that's at all possible."

Leonille nodded and backed out of the office. She'd have to find an inn to stay in. Going back to the house would be pointless and dangerous and stupid. She soon found one called the Cawing Crow and rented a room there. She had quite a bit of gold with her. She wouldn't have to starve.

The inn room was small and cozy. She dropped her things and went to sleep immediately, barely bothering to remove her boots. It was late, and she was tired. And according to her brother's horror stories about the army, she could count on being pretty sleep deprived.

The next morning, Leonille hung around in the room until the very last possible minute. She didn't want to be out and about where one of her friends or acquaintances or family members could spot her. It would take around ten minutes to get to the enlistment office, so she left with fifteen minutes to spare. Once there, her heart plummeted. So much for staying in areas where she could be as alone as possible. It was jam packed with men laughing nervously and women and children sobbing and hugging their husbands and fathers. Leonille gulped and stepped gingerly up to the desk.

"Leo, right? I remember you," said the man. She nodded. "Right, this batch, including you, will be heading over to Osgiliath to assist the soldiers there. Do you have all your things with you?"

Leonille nodded and indicated her pack. Inside was a few changes of clothes, a sewing kit, a canteen of water, some products necessary for females, a sleeping skin, a snack or two, and her mother's old pearl necklace.

"Right," the man said gruffly. "You'll be departing in an hour. Go into the back and find a uniform and a better sword," he indicated her cheap, low-quality one. "And say any good-byes you need to. Never know when you'll be coming back. _If _you come back."

Well, that was cheerful. She nodded and stepped briskly through the door behind him. There were rows of soldier's uniforms and weapons on the wall, just waiting to be taken. Her breath caught as she ran her fingers across the smooth leather of the vests. They were plain and brown, unlike the ones belonging to Deon and Faramir and… well, the one that _had _belonged to Boromir. Those were stamped with the silver, leafless tree that stood in front of the Steward's hall. Of course she wouldn't have one of those. She was merely a foot soldier.

"Fancy, aren't they?" came a voice. She jumped and turned around. A dark boy looking around twenty years of age stepped out from behind a barrel of spears. He was very dark, actually. Not only was he clad in all black, but his skin was pale brown, like a walnut. She was pleased to find that he was shorter than her. His eyes were brown, a rarity among a blue-eyed people. A Harad? The men of the south were allied with Mordor, though! What was one doing here? "I'm Talin."

"Leo," she said. "Are you headed towards Osgiliath as well, then?"

"Yes," he nodded and swung the sword he'd selected around a little. It was empty in the back room apart from the two of them. The others must still be out there, kissing the lasses they were leaving behind and patting their children on the head. It made her a bit nervous, being alone with a Harad, but if her was here, and enlisting in the army, than he must have been safe.

Leonille picked out a uniform. It was a bit big because all the ones her size had already been claimed, but she would have to sew it to make it fit in a way that made her look more manly anyways. She then moved to the rack of swords. This took her a little longer. She would depend on the sword for her life, and she didn't want to choose the wrong one. Finally, she stuck a relatively short, light one in her belt. She liked the feel of the soft black leather of the hilt.

"That's nearly a knife," Talin observed, slinging his uniform over his shoulder. "Don't you want something with a bit more heft?"

"I'm told my abilities lie more in my agility than my strength," Leonille shrugged. Talin looked doubtful, but didn't pester her.

She slipped into the changing room and into a stall to quickly adjust her uniform. She had a mere forty minutes or so, and with all the hurrying she kept stabbing her fingers with the needle. Finally she was satisfied enough to change into it. She stepped out from the stall and looked down at herself. Without a mirror she couldn't quite tell, but it seemed to her that she looked quite like a proper boy.

"Ah, there you are," said Talin as she slipped into the main room. "I was beginning to worry you'd ducked out."

"I would never!" she said.

The man from the desk gave a long lecture and explained quite a bit to them, which bored Leonille. She already knew all the standard procedures from her Da and older brother. Then he gave a little inspirational speech about how good they were, joining up before the draft. Something about how brave that made them. Finally, the group of twenty or so men marched down to the city's stables. That was another thing the army supplied for new recruits: horses. Leonille chose a spotted grey mare. She didn't much like horses, and they didn't much like her. In fact, she could barely ride at all. When she was younger, she would try, but would generally end up being bucked off and landing face-first in a variety of vile substances.

They trotted down the streets of Minas Tirith. People, probably mostly family and friends of the leaving men, gathered around the curbs, shouting praise and farewells. Leonille, hidden beneath her helmet, secretly pretended they were saying those things for her benefit, even though she knew it was ridiculous.

The road to Osgiliath was flat, grassy, and criss-crossed with small streams. Their commanding officer was Captain Belan, a merry man who looked a bit plump for the fact that he spent his days fighting orcs. As they went, he told many stories of his conquests, and led in common soldier songs. Talin and Leonille lagged in the back, not joining in the singing. Leonille worried her girl voice would give her away in song, and Talin claimed he was a horrible singer. Grateful for that idea of an excuse, Leonille dittoed it.

She learned that Talin wasn't, in fact, a Haradrim. His grandparents had been born in Harad, but his father had been conceived in Osgiliath and his mother was from Minis Tirith, through and through. She found it strange that a Gondorian would marry a Haradrim, but she didn't dwell on it. Talin was as much of an oddity in this army as she was, and it couldn't hurt to make some friends, even if they _were _directly descended from the enemy.

It didn't take long to get to Osgiliath. In fact, it had only just gotten dark when they reached the city. Captain Belan, as it turned out, was leader of all the forces stationed in Osgiliath. He wasn't merely someone to come pick them up and bring them there, but their captain himself. He led the newcomers to a crumbling old amphitheater made of white stone and told them to claim any part of it to sleep in. Leonille sought out a small area behind the seats and set up her little living area there. She wanted to be out of the way. If she stayed out in the open, her secret would be revealed the first time she changed clothes.

As she set up her sleeping skin, she marveled at the brilliance of the city. It was large, obviously, because it had once been Gondor's capitol. Now it was a ruin, but tall spires and other amazing architecture still survived. The moonlight seemed to make the white building material glow, giving the city a cold and beautiful aura.

Her musing was cut short by a shuffle in the shadows. She squinted and cursed herself for not bringing a candle.

"Who's there?" she demanded. A figure stepped out, hands raised as if saying, _I'm innocent._ "Talin? You do enjoy skulking around in shadows, do you not?"

He looked at her curiously. "What an odd way to say it. Yes, I believe I do," he said. She realized then that she could hear a faint Harad accent in the way he spoke, and a little of something else. She wondered why she hadn't noticed it before. It was probably because the accent gave him an uppity way of speaking, not like the gruff way all the other men yelled at each other. It reminded her of herself.

That was it. She had to remember to speak more like other men. She'd thought she'd known how men spoke from her father and brothers, but she'd been mistaking. Peasant men spoke much differently than noble ones. Talin was looking at her funnily because of the manner in which she'd accused him of skulking. Like that of a rich, well-educated person, it was peppered with unnecessary words. A normal soldier would have cut those out, and probably sworn at him for good measure. She would have to remember to do that.

No, 'she'd have to remember that'. There, that was better.

"You're one sneaky little twitch, aren't you?" she quipped. That sounded mighty common. He shrugged. _Mighty. _A common word, as well. But thinking like a commoner certainly couldn't hurt.

"I suppose."

"Are you camping here?" she asked.

"Unless you have any objections," he said. _YES, _screamed every intelligent bone in her body.

"No," she shrugged. It was risky, she knew, and she'd have to be quick and private when changing, but there was no way to reject him without arousing suspicion. "Go ahead."

He gave her a quick nod and began to set up his own sleeping skin.

The next morning at the crack of dawn, the soldiers all gathered in full armor in front of Captain Belan. He barked an order or two and the ones who had already been there left immediately to get breakfast. Then the captain addressed the newcomers.

"I trust you've all gotten to know each other at least a little bit?" there was a general murmur of ascent, but the captain wasn't satisfied. "Is there anyone who mistrusts their judge of the rest of the soldiers here?"

No one stepped up.

"Alright, then. I suppose I can trust you to assign your own groups. With twenty two new recruits, we should have three groups of four and two groups of five. These groups will be your squads for patrolling, and you will be expected to look after one another in a battle situation," said Captain Belan. "Chop chop, get to it. Breakfast is getting cold!"

Leonille and Talin immediately found each other and wordlessly they agreed to be part of the same group. Then, they each grabbed another who they saw wandering around aimlessly, desperate for a group.

"Good! Now our cook, who you will know as Chef, has mess for you. Go and get to know each other over a meal. Teamwork is essential for any army."

Leonille, Talin, and the two others headed towards the mess hall which was inside what used to be the living room of a large home. They introduced each other over the mess. The two new ones were called Garin and Hafa. Garin was a spindly, wee thing with dark hair and eyes that darted around nervously. Leonille was relieved to see that there were such people in the army. If she acted tougher than him, she would blend in nicely. Hafa was exactly the opposite. He was big, muscular, and rather unintelligent.

He made her nervous. She knew she could probably creamate him in a battle of wits, but if push came to shove he could pummel her into the dust.

Breakfast was disgusting. It was nasty. It was just as she remembered it. Once, a long time ago, she and Leogas had gotten lost in the woods on the way back from going swimming in a lake. After hours of wandering aimlessly, they'd begun to get hungry. Inside one of his pockets they'd found a leftover bar of who knows what, a mixture of oats and vegetables and fruits and slightly rotted meat, and what Leogas's meals usually were during his wilderness training. They'd shared the bar. It was disgusting. It was nasty. It was just like this breakfast.

That was another thing. There had always been the nagging suspicion in the back of Leonille's mind that there was a _reason _women weren't soldiers, especially not noblewomen. That maybe she was too soft, too weak, that she wouldn't be able to handle it. But so far, in everything she'd done, she could only think that Leogas had gone through something similar (although _he _would have gotten special treatment), and her father, too. Deon she waved away, he was still alive, and he was probably sitting around a fire butt-cold eating even grosser food right at that moment.

After breakfast, they went and got their assignments. Before letting them go, Belan gave a long-winded speech on safety and what to do if they were to run into trouble. Afterwards, they got the responsibility of patrolling the southernmost border, so they picked up the lunches provided, packed them away, and headed off immediately.

They only had a mile or so of land to patrol and the work quickly got boring and repetitive. Leonille was disappointed. She'd expected more action in the field. More opportunities to prove herself.

"I reckon we should get some practice in," she said after a little while. "Who wants to spar?"

Everyone was relieved for the distraction, and they drew their swords. Leonille and Talin and Garin and Hafa started to swordfight playfully as they danced across the border. As she'd expected, Hafa had the upper hand in his little bout against Garin. With all that strength, it was only because Garin kept jumping out of the way that he wasn't sliced to ribbons by the hulking man.

Talin surprised her, though. He was really quite good with a sword. _Too _good, in fact. He flourished his sword around and sliced at her in a funny, smooth way. He always held his left hand behind his back, which struck her as odd. He was stronger than her, obviously, and after a while blocking his attacks made her limbs feel heavy and weak. This annoyed her. She didn't enjoy being bested like this by a bleeding _commoner_ – and he was definitely besting her.

Suddenly, Garin let out a strangled little cry. Leonille dropped the tip of her sword into the dirt and looked at him, worried that Hafa had gotten carried away and actually hurt him. But Hafa looked scared, too, and they were both looking in the same direction: between Talin and Leonille. She spun around and her jaw dropped. How had she not noticed the horrid stench? The horrid, familiar stench.

"Orcs," she hissed. Seven of them, standing right there, snarling viciously and drawing their swords. She took a step back and Talin followed. Soon the four of them were side by side, swords drawn menacingly.

"Look what we have here," said one of the orcs, probably the leader. "Four little mice, interrupting our party. I guess we'll have to squash them, eh, boys?"

"Garin," she breathed to the mousy boy next to her. "Go."

"Wha…"

"Just go, Garin. Warn Belan that we have trouble. We'll keep them off you," she snapped. He gulped, nodded, and then turned to run. Talin shot her a look like, _what? _But she ignored him.

"Oi! One of them's getting away!" said an orc.

"Fah! Let it run!" said the leader. "We'll kill these three and then catch up soon enough."

Leonille stared. They hadn't even _attacked _yet. How could they afford to be so bloody cocky?

"We won't let you pass," she checked her posture and raised her sword a little higher. The orcs burst into laughter.

"The wee little human thinks he can beat us!" roared the leader. "Go get 'em, boys!"

The orcs leaped forward, swinging their swords wildly. Hafa, Talin, and Leonille split apart and started fighting back, but the battle was a losing one before it even started. Seven well trained, well-conditioned orcs against three rookies? They were going to die.

"We are going to die," Talin muttered. Odd how he seemed to read her thoughts. There was a cry of pain as an orc slashed Hafa's side and he fell to the ground, whimpering. Make that two rookies. Talin and Leonille found themselves circling around their wounded comrade, blocking furiously. There was a dull thud behind her and she managed to catch a glimpse of Talin sinking towards the ground. Her jaw dropped and she gave a little cry, horrified. That was another one down. That made one girl versus seven full grown slavering beasts from hell.

Thoughts raced a million leagues an hour through Leonille's head. She was _not _going to die here. Not against seven measly orcs in a silly border skirmish. They would win. She would kill them. For all she knew, one of these was one of the ones that had slaughtered her parents, or her brothers. She would avenge them.

But how? This was going to be a difficult situation to get out of. She glanced around wildly for something, _any_thing to get them out of this mess. Her vision clung to every piece of matter in the environment, until she was struck with a burst of inspiration. It probably wouldn't work, but she couldn't see any other, better options. And besides, why pass up a chance to practice her deceitful tactics?

The next time an orc stabbed at her the right way, she dodged just a hair, letting the blade clip her skin. The blood would hopefully make the charade convincing.

"Gah!" she yelled, and sank down to her knees. She made several wheezing noises and clutched her wound as if she was in great pain, while in reality the shallow scratch only stung a little bit. Alright, a lot, but not so much that she was _handicapped_, or about to pass out from pain or blood loss or something like that. She let her face land in the dirt and fell motionless. The orcs laughed and swept past her and her comrades. Once their voices were far enough away, she jumped to her feet and followed them at a safe distance. They weren't heading towards the camp, of course – seven against around twenty who were still there? They would be wiped out immediately. Instead, they veered off to the left. What was over there? Nothing she could think of, but she trailed them a little longer, anyways. It wouldn't do to not know what the foul creatures were planning.

One of the orcs pulled out what looked like a water skin and dangled it in front of his face.

"This is really gonna work?" he said. Even in his normal talking voice, it seemed like a snarl.

"Of course," answered the leader. "These idiot soldiers will drop like flies once we finish with this."

Leonille then realized with a horrible sinking feeling what the orcs were planning to do. She had to hurry up and warn the others, or the orcs would poison the water supply and force Gondor out of Osgiliath. She took off at high speed towards the camp. The only thing she could hear was the pounding of her feet against the ground and her increasingly heavy breath. Her armor was relatively thin and lacked clanky metal parts, but it was still rapidly heating her body faster than a dress would. But you couldn't run in a dress, or fight in one either, and she was beginning to think that if she ever had to wear one again, she would die.

"Captain! Captain!" she yelled. She'd skipped over the main entrance in favor of scrambling over some boulders to save time. "Come, quick!"

"What is it, man?" Belan scowled and stomped up to her. "There are orcs on territory. If you're interrupting preparations - "

"I know where they're headed!" she gasped, doubling over to catch her breath. She was positive her face was red as a beet. "They're going to poison the wells! Drive us out for need of water!"

"What?" Belan roared. "All hands, head for the wells. Kill those damned creatures!"

There was a hustle of movement and all the soldiers still in camp rushed out and towards the wells, on foot and on horseback, until the only two people remaining were Leonille and Garin. She sat down next to him heavily and rubbed her eyes.

"Good job, Garin," she said. "They were all ready to go, thanks to you."

Garin wrung his hands nervously. "R – right…"

She leaned back against a crumbling pillar.. "You know, Hafa and Talin are still back there. We'd better go rescue them before they bleed out, eh?"

"Aye," he nodded and stood up. They went to fetch their horses, making sure to take Hafa and Talin's as well, and rode down. Talin was already on his feet when they got there, grumbling and rubbing a nice-sized lump on his forehead, while Hafa was moaning and clutching the wound on his side. Leonille helped him up, but nearly dropped him again when she noticed that _his _cut was barely any deeper than hers – and she'd run halfway across Osgiliath with it!


	4. Attack

In the days after the incident with the water, Talin had grown increasingly interested in Leo. He wasn't entirely sure why the thought of befriending the soldier had ever crossed his mind in the first place – when he'd first met him in the enlistment office, he'd noticed something odd about Leo, something he couldn't quite place. But anyways, he proved to be quite a good acquaintance to have. He was a good fighter, though perhaps a little more spindly than most, and he was quite clever. Most of the men here could barely read, but Leo was quite literate, and he could even do maths as well, though he tried to hide it for some reason.

"I taught myself," was what he'd said when Talin had asked him where he'd learned such things, but he'd looked uncomfortable, so Talin had quickly dropped the subject.

Hafa, Garin, Leo, and Talin were a decent team – though Talin and Leo held it up the most. Talin found himself being forced to keep Hafa under control since he was slightly violent and didn't seem to know his own strength, and Leo was the yin to Garin's yang, so to speak. Still, at the times when their separate abilities were balanced in the right way, they proved to be quite a formidable force, though defeating seven orcs with only the four of them was still out of their grasp.

"Hey, Garin," Leo said. "How old are you, mate?"

"Sixteen," Garin replied nervously. "How come?"

"Just wondering," Leo shrugged. "How about you, Hafa?"

"Twenty four," said Hafa. "Think I'm the oldest."

"Probably," said Leo. "You, Talin?"

"Nineteen," said Talin.

"A year older than me," Leo grinned. "Fancy that, huh?"

Talin had noticed that the way Leo spoke had changed, too. It was blunter and shorter, more common, more likely to hold swear words or terms of endearment (like the aforementioned 'mate'), unlike the eloquent manner of speaking he'd held when Talin had first met him. That disappointed Talin. He'd enjoyed having another person to speak with more intelligently. Perhaps that had just been his imagination.

"You're a bit young, aren't you, Garin?" Talin asked. Garin shrugged his shoulders, looking slightly jittery. The boy was always on edge, for some reason.

"Yeah, I reckon. But you're allowed to join up at sixteen, and I need the money."

"Ah," Talin didn't press for details.

"Oi, what's that?" Hafa pointed to a gathering mob of black specks on the horizon. Talin squinted, trying to make out individual shapes, and nearly fell off the large rock he was using as a perch.

"Orcs!" he said.

"Goat turds! Again? Garin, you know the drill," Leo said, turning towards the boy. Garin nodded and sped off. It turned out he was the fastest of the bunch, so they'd elected him for use whenever a message needed to be carried. Leo then turned back to Talin. "Should we scout out some more info or scurry off ourselves?"

"Scurry off," Hafa gulped, raising his hand. "That's an entire bleeding army!"

It was true. There were orcs – lots of orcs. Talin couldn't be sure, but he thought it was at least a thousand. There were no more than three hundred soldiers stationed in Osgiliath. They would be overrun.

"Belan will call for aid," Talin assured Hafa. "It will all turn out fine."

"That's not what I'm saying, you daft wanker," Leo rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't suggest we take on the whole bloody lot of 'em, but while we've got the time, why not check out what kind of arsenal they've got?"

"That's suicide!" at the word 'suicide', spoken by Hafa, Leo froze. Then he glared up at the big man.

"Aye, maybe, but if we can get a good idea of how strong they are, perhaps we can save some other men," he snapped.

"Well, with all that arguing you two sots have been doing, I believe it's a bit too late," Talin said. The orcs were closer now, easily recognizable as orcs, charging into the city on horseback.

"Let's go," said Hafa.

"Agreed," said Leo, his eyes wide with fear. And without another word, the three were off, scampering through the rubble of collapsed structures towards the camp. Just as they reached it, a loud horn went off, calling the other squads to report back. Garin scurried past them, and Hafa grabbed his arm.

"Where do you think you're going, kid?" he said. Garin looked up at him fearfully and Talin knocked the larger man's hand away.

"The Captain has sent me off to Ithilian, to request aid from the rangers there," he was white-faced and trembling. "He's not optimistic. He says the orcs are gonna kill us all!"

"Well, they might if you don't hurry!" said Leo. "I bet with the rangers' help we'll do just fine. Now move it, chicken legs!"

"Why the sudden faith in the rangers?" Talin murmured into Leo's ear as they went back to their individual sleeping spots to put on their more heavy armor.

"I know one or two of them," he shrugged. "They're much more capable than us lowly little foot soldiers."

_Lowly little foot soldier. _If only he knew.

They put their breastplates, shin guards, arm guards, and helmets on quickly. They didn't have much else in the way of protection – constructing an entire suit of armor for every member of the military would be much too expensive. They were lucky for getting so much – the people who were now being drafted into the army would only have the thick leather vests and their weapons between them and becoming just another body collected by orcs.

Sometimes Talin wondered why he was even participating in this war. It wasn't his place to die for Gondor. In fact, if the world had not turned upside down when his parents died, he would be with his father, negotiating ways to bring Harad out of the war, to draw it back into its little shell where they had little contact with the surrounding lands. But the world _was _upside down, and there was nothing he could do to change it. Not now, at least. One little man was nothing against his uncle's forces. He had to face the facts and realize he would never be a Haradrim king.

"Quit daydreaming, mate, we've gotta dash," Leo grabbed Talin roughly and dragged him out of the amphitheater and back to camp where they met Hafa, who relayed to them the orders Belan had given him. They were to head down to the port with three other squads, two of four men and one of five, pick off any orcs that came around that area and guard for an assault from the water. That made twenty one men and an unknown amount of hostiles. They could be completely overrun, or be sitting there with nothing to do. Talin was greatly hoping for the second option.

The four squads met up and moved down to the port in tight formation. They met five stray orcs on the way down, but they cut them down immediately with no casualties of their own. Once they reached the harbor, they found twenty orcs already there, talking, laughing, and generally being vile with each other. One soldier, a tall, well-built fellow from another squadron that Talin didn't recognize, took the helm and whispered orders. Talin, Leo, Hafa, and the fifth member of the sole five-member squad went to the right, another four people went to the left, and eight stayed there. Then, the tall fellow whistled the signal and they all jumped out.

The tall fellow didn't make it. He was the only death, thankfully, but it still disheartened Talin. Now they'd need a new leader, and no one seemed willing to step up. Talin was getting ready to volunteer Leo, for the job when he beat him to it. The blonde grabbed Talin with his left hand and raised his right hand.

"This one's a wicked good leader," he said. Talin blinked. Where was that coming from? In the only real battle they'd been in, Talin had been knocked out nearly immediately. _Garin _was more qualified for the job than him. And it was Leo who had deceived the orcs into thinking he was taken care of and then followed them, warning everyone in time to keep them from poisoning the only fresh, clean water source.

But there was a general rumble of ascent and Leo didn't give him a chance to object, so before he knew it, he was leading the nineteen other men. Luckily, that didn't entitle much. The other orcs must have had faith in their comrades, because although the din of more battle was easily heard, no others came to the port. The men simply stood stiffly at the ready, too scared to relax, for hours, until night fell. Darkness shrouded the entire place and it was completely quiet save for the lapping of the water against the shore. Had the battle been finished? No one had come to fetch them, or kill them, so was it even possible?

Then he heard it. The sloshing of the water became slightly irregular and odd, and there was the occasional inexplicable splash. Talin turned to Leo.

"Orcs," he breathed. "Boats. In the water."

Talin could sense Leo straining his ears. "Aye," he whispered. "And a lot of them, too."

"Hide," he said. "Pass it on."

Leo repeated the age to Hafa, who repeated it to the man next to him, and so on and so forth until the herd had spread thin and all the men were hidden behind pillars.

Talin nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a gloved hand press itself across his mouth. His eyes certainly widened with terror. But then he saw that the black shape in front of him was moving quietly, not rattling with excess metal, and he didn't smell like orc. It was a man. From the quiet nature of his appearance, Talin could guess that he was one of the rangers. The shape pressed a finger to its lips and indicated the incoming boats. Then he waved around the area where his sword must have been. Talin nodded quickly that he understood, and the two men shared the pillar.

"Ready?" whispered the man. Talin heard the sound of the boats on the gravel. Footsteps. The man jumped out from behind the pillar and shouted, "ATTACK!"

There were several loud battle cries and the rest of the men leaped out. He was surprised how many rangers had come – at least fifty, perhaps seventy five… maybe even a hundred. It was hard to tell. But there were more orcs. Many more orcs. Many, _many _more orcs. They were ridiculously outnumbered.

Talin heard the sound of metal against metal before he felt the shock wave travel through his arms, pushing him backwards. The orc in front of him was grinning freakishly and coming in for another go. Talin blocked that one, too. He found himself thinking less like a common soldier and more like how his fencing teacher had taught him, analyzing his opponent's strengths, weaknesses, and the nicks in his armor. Soon he had no doubt he could beat this orc, and fairly easily, too. It was heavyset, and whenever it swung its sword it took a while to recover. Talin waited for a particularly large attempt and then flickered to the side, stabbing his sword into the thing's gut.

He felt sick. Although he knew the orcs were evil, and that they were trying to kill him, ending a life still made him feel weak. He pushed it away, though, because more orcs were closing in on him. And not just one at a time which he now felt he could handle easily, but two at a time, or even three. When five orcs attacked him from several different angles… that was when he knew they were going to lose. He employed every fighting technique ever taught to him and found that he was much better off than most of those around him, but he knew he would fall eventually.

Suddenly, Talin felt as if all the food he'd ever eaten was rising into his throat and threatening to spew out. He could barely hear the sound of wings beating the air over his own pounding heart and the sounds of the orcs attacking him, but he knew what was up there. He'd studied them under his History of the People tutor.

"NAZGUL!" someone yelled. A deafening shriek rent the air.

"Take cover!" someone else shouted. "Fall back! Fall back to Minas Tirith!"

Talin didn't need to be told twice. He aimed one last slash at one of the orcs attacking him's legs and ran like the very beasts of hell were behind him. He heard others around him, scrambling back towards camp. When he reached it, Talin saw that it had been completely ravaged. There was no saving the stuff there. So he quickly re-routed and headed towards the stables. He jumped on his horse and waited for the signal to leave. Someone said loudly for them to 'GO!' and Talin didn't hesitate.

Once riding, Talin found Garin.

"Where's Hafa? Leo?" he asked. Garin shook his head desperately. Talin blinked. The point of the squads was to watch each other's backs, make sure everyone stayed safe. If Hafa and Leo weren't riding back with them, the only place they could be was back in Osgiliath –

Dead.


End file.
